The Weaver's Source

Part Five: Chapter 61

"You don't like me feeling your emotions but are happy that I can read your emotions through colours?" He asked, his tone thick with bewilderment.

"It's...different." I mumbled, not quite wanting explain how it made me feel cared for when someone paid that much attention to me.

He sighed and shrugged his wide shoulders, setting off again, his stride wide and walk easy. I kept myself a few steps from his side, paying attention to the snow surrounding us, thickening into whirling flurries. Guilt touched me.

"I'm sorry I never mentioned it before, Grigore." I said softly.

He shrugged again. "I'm just as guilty." He pointed out. "And you've no control over it and neither of us have a choice. It's fine."

I glanced at him in surprise. Two months ago he was angrily defensive about the magic's invasiveness, how it made him think and desire to have me, how it tried to control him, but now he was taking it in his stride, as if it didn't bother him anymore.

We drifted into silence, walking through the snow that fell through the sky, up until Grigore paused. I took a few steps ahead of him before I noticed.

"Grigore?" I called curiously, stepping up to his side.

He gestured to an expansive tundra lay below the sloping hill, cornered in by the vast pine forest and full of windswept shrubs. My eyes picked out several shapes moving slowly among the long frozen grass. I frowned. I knew what was coming.

"Try get our dinner again."

"You saw how miserably I failed at it the other day."

"You're the one who wanted to hunt, weren't you?" He asked firmly with an eyebrow raised. I nodded meekly. "Then hunt."

I huffed but quietly submitted. It's what Arthur had been telling me before his death and what I had asked of Grigore a month ago, it just hadn't been as easy as shooting sacks or trees. So far, I'd only embarrassed myself and lost more arrows than I cared to count. Grigore rubbed my arm comfortingly, trying to encourage me gently, before stripping away my pack.

"I'll get us something if you miss." Grigore said and placed his hand on the small of my back and propelled me off of the road and onto the dipping earth.

I glanced back at him when he stopped following me, noting the dark attentive gaze he was showering me with, and tugged my hood further over my head before I focused my attention on the herd clustered out on the tundra. I took every step with care, trying my best not to make too much noise. It was hard. The grass was so frigid it sounded like I was stepping on ice. It made me wince whenever the sound shattered the silence. As I drew closer, the large furry deer remained calm but slowly becoming alert. They raised their heads and looked sharply around with their large ears flicking back and forth.

I reached for my bow and pulled out an arrow from the fur sheath, notching it quietly and trying my best to ignore the horrible ache of my frozen red fingers. Kneeling down, I pulled back the arrow and aimed. I sat there, waiting patiently, breathing as calming as I could, and eyeing the buck I had my arrow trailing.

And then the herd bolted. In a flurry of legs and chorus of yelps, all dozen of the deer bounded off towards the woodlands. At first I thought it was because they had seen me or I had sat myself downwind but I was corrected when a howl ripped at the silent air. Wolves. They tore across the frozen earth, chasing after the herd, a ten strong pack, snapping and snarling as they ran.

I watched with disappointment as the wolves chased away the deer from the meadow. I stood and lowered my bow as the herd ran off, vanishing from sight, then turned to trudge back to Grigore, clambering up the hill without too much difficulty. My legs, thankfully, were beginning to show their growing strength.